


Best Day of My Life

by charleybradburies



Series: wrap your arms around me [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Tumblr Post, Commitment, Committed Relationship, Community: 1_million_words, Declarations Of Love, Drabble Sequence, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Female-Centric, Femslash, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, Insecurity, Long-Term Relationship(s), Making Love, Making Out, Married Couple, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Orgasm, POV Female Character, POV Multiple, Presents, Relationship Problems, Sequel, Sexual Content, Simultaneous Orgasm, Tumblr: otpprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3075053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is full of interruptions and complications...</p><p>Commitment can be difficult. Falling in love is all too easy.</p><p>Love, actually, is all around. Even when it kicks the shit out of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Day of My Life

She taps the pink pen against her lips edgily, trying - not entirely successfully - not to let her teeth grind against each other. Sansa always noticed when she ground her teeth, and she absolutely _hated_ it, so Margaery had been trying to stop. Well, it probably wasn’t good for her teeth, either, but Margaery had long since ignored that piece on the grounds that she really didn’t have any unhealthy habits in the first place. Better to grind her teeth than to get into drugs or drag racing or disordered eating…her family had had to contend with each of those, and she tried not to do things she would regret.

_Right, the bubblegum._

She twirls around in her chair, reaching to the top drawer of Sansa’s art desk, and pulls out the pack, plucking a single pink piece from it and popping it into her mouth, making sure to drop the wrapper into the wastebasket. 

_Only three pieces left. I should get her some more._

Marg makes a note on her phone as she turns back around to face her own desk again. 

_I’ll buy bulk. She won’t like that it’ll add to our nonexistent clutter, but I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll drop by the Container Store and get something to store the unopened packs in._

She sighs, looking back down at the half-empty notebook page.

_To be fair, it’s pretty impressive I got this far, right?_

“2010: You retaliated for what will apparently be henceforth called 'the mistletoe experience’ by trading out your butterfly belly button ring for one with mistletoe on it and gave me an excuse to go down on you for almost an hour without interruption. By far the best impromptu Christmas present ever.”

There were only so many ways to phrase _“you are the most amazing person I have ever met and it is the greatest joy in my life that you have chosen me to be the person who wakes up next to you and shakes the packet of Splenda into your tea in the morning and kisses your cute little nose and cries on your shoulder when their brothers are being jackasses and eventually grows old gracefully by your side,”_ and Margaery was fairly certain that she’d exhausted all her options. 

Another sigh, and then a knock at the door, an intervention with a feigned gentleness that almost could have made her laugh, and the door opens slowly. She wheels around to face the entrance.

“Margaery, sweetheart, it has been hours. I understand that you are as dedicated to your artistic projects as any other virtuoso, but I can guarantee you that even the most acclaimed artists throughout all of history have required water, food, and rest.”

Marg purses her lips, tapping the pen on the desktop now. 

“Three hours. A leisurely, nutritious lunch, a nap, perhaps a brief shower or a glass of wine or two.”

She spits the gum into a facial tissue, tossing it to the wastebasket, and gingerly shuts the notebook, the 9”x11” ambition that has consumed her past few days and quite a bit of her recent nights. She reaches the doorway, and Sansa takes Margaery’s cheeks into her freshly manicured hands and presses a fond kiss to her right, and Margaery puts her hands on top of her partner’s and grips them tightly, holding the left as she lets Sansa pull her from the study and down the stairs.

***

It starts hasty, as they're desperate and bordering on drunk, but Gendry earned his Masters in self-control, so even with Arya straddling him and grinding down against him and kissing him furiously, he manages to slow down enough for his hands, his big, strong, calloused hands, to grip her by the hips and hold her in place in his lap.

She doesn't want to stay still, she can't, she needs to feel him inside her and feel her skin glisten with sweat, but he's so strong and _gods_ it's so sexy and it doesn't just make her wet but it makes her feel just a little bit weak, and they've been kissing for long enough that she doesn't quite feel the butterflies anymore but every atom inside of her feels a little bit blissful. But fuck, she's waited too long already and just _needs_ him.

They've already had this argument, but then it was in a friendly context, and now, it's ammunition. She's impatient - too impatient, Gendry thinks, along with half the people she knows - and she's got a style that's quick and rough and impassioned and lets her peak early and leave lovers begging for more of her. 

But Gendry - Gendry takes things slow. As broody as he can be sometimes, he's the friend you can bring home to your upper crust parents even though he's a mechanic - and you'll never have to remind him that they're used to being called sir and ma'am since he's going to address them as such anyway - and he's so respectful of people's boundaries that he practically waits for written permission to kiss a girl on the cheek. He's the roses and rings and candlelit dinners type, and yanking off her tee shirt and letting her neighbors know his name and leaving a hickey somewhere really obvious on her person just wasn't an option.

At least, not at the moment. She hopes it will be, someday.

But she didn't even _know_ how people fucked if not hot and dirty and a little bit primal.

Maybe she should have thought this through more.

Maybe she was thinking about it too much.

It’s probably the latter, because he seems to notice her apprehension, and pulls his lips away from hers, scooting back from the muted TV and leaning against the couch. It startles her a bit, the way he’s able to effortlessly carry her weight along with his own; when his touch softens, her breath shakes a little, along with the blankets she'd earlier secured above the backs of the couch and the TV. Their makeshift fort had been there nearly a week, as they’d put it there when they’d been snowed in, so its demise was definitely within the realm of possibility, and probably imminent. 

Sex Ed definitely had not taught her what to do when a blanket fort collapses in on its lovemaking inhabitants. 

“Hey, no rush,” Gendry mumbles against her lips.

_He could say that again,_ she thinks, and lets out a small sigh that creases his brow.

“I know, I just- I've never done it like this before, you know? Like the good Christian girl my parents raised me to be,” she replies, reflexively reverting to a sardonic tone, and he plays along.

“Actually, I'm pretty sure that the fact that we're not married and you're on birth control negates most any other circumstance, so it doesn't really make a difference one way or the other.”

_Shit._

He leans forward and presses a peck to her clavicle.

“What is it?” he says, his voice concerned and genuine even as his hands continue to rest - thank _fuck_ \- at the small of her back, his fingers lazily running along the outline of her underwear.

“It's just…that's the part that I'm no good at - the relationship part. The part when you wake up in the morning and actually eat breakfast together. I can't even cook for shit, and I'm not human before I've had coffee, and I can't count the number of guys I've been with in just the past couple years on a single hand and I couldn't tell you any of their favorite colors and it's not like any guys ever hung around long enough to figure out-"

“That the hot and cold controls in your shower are reversed?”

“Shut up.”

“Yellow, by the way.”

“Yellow? Seriously?”

“Not gross yellow though. Nobody likes gross yellow. Nice yellow.”

“It's yellow.”

“I like yellow.”

“Apparently.”

She chuckles, but sobers shortly thereafter.

“I just...I suck at actual intimacy. The kind that really matters. When people well and truly know each other, and rely on each other, and can see the worst of each other and still think the sun shines out their ass, and can actually…trust each other. And…it scares the living shit out of me. Just the idea of that. And it scares me even more that I really, really want that, and that there’s this really cogent part of me that honestly thinks we have a chance at it, and-” she stops, enough tears having started to well up behind her eyelids that it's hindered her ability to speak, and though it looks like he’s spending a lot of energy keeping himself from kissing her again, Gendry just moves his hands to her cheeks, and that's even more comforting than she expects.

“You’re my best friend, and I just…can’t risk losing you.”

He pulls her hands into his, not-so-absentmindedly fingering her ring.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not now, you’re not. But what happens a year, two years from now, when I’m in grad school and I’m so stressed all the time I barely have the time to take to talk to you-"

“We’ll deal.”

“But-"

“No, Arya, no buts. Sure, maybe there will be more difficulties at some given points in our lives, and some of those are coming up sooner than others, but that’s not _now_.”

He strokes some of her hair back behind her shoulder, and she can feel the expression in her eyes changing, can _feel_ herself falling a little more in love with him. 

“It’s not like I’d stop being your friend then, either. Maybe there will be months that even though we’re sleeping in the same bed, the most interaction we have in a given day is me making you coffee and you smacking a kiss on my cheek before you leave but that’s what commitment is about. Dealing with that. And I’m willing to, so if you are, then that’s what matters right now.”

He presses a chaste kiss to her lips and leans back again. Arya takes a deep breath and puts her hand between them.

“Pinky swear?”

He doesn’t even laugh, but only smiles, looking her right in the eyes as the deal is sealed.

***

Margaery wakes to the smell of cocoa, and the feeling of cashmere soft against her skin, and startles quickly.

“Shit. What time is it?” she mumbles, to no one but herself, as she sits herself up, throwing off the blanket that had been laid over her - whether that had been there when she'd fallen asleep or it was Sansa's doing, she can't remember - and rubs her eyes. The clock in the kitchen is ticking, and the room is dim so it is difficult to make out, so taking a deep breath, she stands and begins to walk over, just as she hears high heels clicking against the landing of the floor above her. She turns instead to the stairs, catching Sansa just as she reaches the bottom step.

“I was just coming to wake you. Jon and Ygritte are over, and we’re just upstairs watching if you feel up to joining us.”

“You mean it’s nighttime already? Sansa, I thought-"

“You fell asleep so easily, and you really needed it, I just couldn’t have woken you earlier. Bran and Meera even called in and you didn’t hear a thing.”

Margaery groans.

“But my-”

“Your work will be there tomorrow, Marg,” Sansa continues sternly.

“But it was supposed to be done _tonight,_ ” Margaery grumbles, putting her head in her hands.

“Is it a commission? I’m sure you could explain-”

Marg sighs, and steps up onto the stairs, gesturing for Sansa to follow her, and they toe their way to their study. Margaery whimpers as the light turns on, her eyes entirely unadjusted and pained by the brightness, and as she walks over to her desk she sees Sansa’s expression of well-intentioned self-reproach, her worry creasing her forehead. She grabs the journal and returns to the doorway, holding it out to her partner a bit tensely.

“Oh, Margaery,” Sansa realizes, gratitude flooding her face and relieving it of much of her concern, and she pulls Margaery into a sweet kiss. 

“Open it!” Marg demands when she pulls back, and Sansa obliges, bringing a hand gently to her lips as she regards it, an amorous smile sneaking across them. "Happy New Year..."

“2015 Reasons Why I Love Sansa Tyrell-Stark…oh, darling, this - wow, I don’t even-”

Seldom caught speechless, Sansa barely ever lets her lips shut, but the sheer, absolute, electrifying love with which Margaery has, by some grace of the gods, been blessed, defies even her description.

***

Gendry fits inside her so well Arya can’t help but think there’s a possibility they were made to, and even the lightest kisses with which he peppers her draw her further and further into ecstasy. 

She starts to tremble, and he bites his lip, and the pressure building and echoing in her midsection is too much to bear for long, but she tries, an acute sense of loss rising within her with even the _thought_ of no longer feeling him so closely. 

She’s whimpering, and panting, and attempting to keep kissing him all the same.

Reassuringly, he moans her name, and pulls her just a little bit tighter against him, and that’s all it takes for each of them to come apart within a moment.

By the time she’s regained some of her breath, her ability to do so limited by the wild thumping of her heart, she leans into the top of his chest, and her lips curl into a smile against his skin, her fingers aimlessly around his shoulders.

They sit just like that for a couple of minutes, neither wanting to shift, but after a little while Arya hears him laugh and raises her head, looking at him confusedly. Gendry points at the TV, which Arya hadn’t realized she’d forgotten to fully turn off, and she looks at the screen, still confused as she sees others’ revelry.

“Happy New Year,” he says, recognizing that she’s unsure what he meant, and her eyes flicker to the clock at the bottom left corner. 

12:03 am.

She has a momentary giggle, which turns itself quickly into a smile - actually, more of a smirk, thinking felicitously that the clock must have turned while he was spending himself inside of her - and reluctantly pulls herself up off the floor. She stretches, wincing as her back cracks, and heads into her kitchen, reaching under the sink to grab a paper towel and clean herself off. Gendry watches her closely as she walks back over to turn the TV off then reaches out her hands to him, heading toward her bedroom. 

“Come on,” she says, and as he stands she thinks he’s just going to follow, but instead he reaches around her, taking her again by the small of her back, though his hands, having already explored, slip a bit further down this time, and pulls her in for a deep kiss.

“Happy New Year,” she says, a bit breathlessly, her still-widening smile creating a pleasurable ache in her still-flushing cheeks.

She claps off the lights in her apartment and replies to Sansa’s 12:00 (sharp!) text, and curls up at Gendry’s side, one of her arms slung over his chest and one of his wrapped around her, both of them fading easily into sleep.


End file.
